As a blue-shirt, Donaldson couldn't help but marvel at the wealth of information a xenoanthropologist had to explore here. Even without formal training, Donaldson was gradually learning new things. Right now, he was walking through one of the homogeneous areas. Much of the Bazaar was transient and explosive, but there were certain little nooks and crannies where multiple generations of the same community had staked out a bit of territory and had settled in against the influences of the rest of the Bazaar. It was almost confusing to walk into an area where everyone actually was the same species.
He turned off the sidestreet and cut out of the community and back into one of the more chaotic melting-pot thoroughfares. He wasn't here to draw attention to himself, but to blend in. And that was the other element: as an intelligence officer, the Bazaar was a dangerous conundrum. It was easy to blend in and vanish. So easy, in fact, that he had to wonder who else had already done so.